What Happens Next?
by Radar1388
Summary: Post Not-End of the World. What will Crowley and Aziraphale do now without their bosses breathing down their necks? How will this newfound freedom affect their lives? Established relationship, but they take their time.


_* Mostly a collection of one-shots that are connected, but most can be read as standalones. I do something called 'One-Word One-Shots'. Meaning, if you give me a word, I'll make a one-shot around that word. Most of these stories will be more 'show' oriented, but will have elements from the book._

_* Disclaimer: Good Omens does not belong to me._

Chapter 1: Just Them

There was no word from them.

Not from Heaven.

Not from Hell.

Crowley was more than pleased about this. Having not been social – willingly, that is – with his fellow demons in the first place, this suited him. And not being one for confrontation, he certainly didn't want to ponder it. Not that he was ignoring what might be inevitable, just that he didn't feel the need to worry about something that wasn't happening. He tried to not tag the word 'yet' to the end of that sentence.

Aziraphale was on edge. He tried distracting himself with his usual methods; reading a book, rereading said book, trying new flavors of tea. He even got into the habit of helping Crowley with his plants. By which he meant soothing the plants, whenever the demon wasn't looking, of course. However, no matter what he did, his mind wouldn't stop nagging at him.

This was not lost on Crowley.

He and the angel had different personas they exuded. While Crowley maintained the picture of cool and collected, Aziraphale leaned towards prim and professional. They had a tendency to cling to these traits. As a result, it made it very easy to tell when something was amiss with either of them.

As an example, while they were having lunch in the park, Aziraphale was so lost in his own head that the chocolate brioche Crowley had gotten him for dessert sat uneaten on its paper napkin, the other lunch items had only been picked at. Crowley scowled in concern. Normally, he was the one that grazed food, as he was always more than happy to give Aziraphale the majority.

This was starting to get ridiculous.

Crowley was hopelessly indulgent of his angel. Visit the new café that opened up across town? _Yes._ See a showing of a book-to-film adaption? _Sure._ Find a new place to stay when the bookshop had burned down? _Nonsense! There's plenty of room in my flat._

Depending on the person, 'indulgent' could also mean 'doting', though the demon believed them to be separate definitions. Crowley was only willing to admit it to himself, but that's what he had been doing the past few weeks since their trials. Doting. Ever so slowly, Aziraphale began to act more and more anxious. Crowley knew why, and did his best to bring about the old routine they'd had before the days leading up to the End. Provide some repetition that the angel might derive comfort from. It should be noted that neither ever pointed out just how different the Arrangement had become throughout the years.

Eat some food. A walk or two through the park. Watch the ducks. Go see a play. Even help him maintain the bookshop.

Doing anything his angel wanted to do or would normally do. All the while, Crowley encouraged conversation, banter, and wine, anything to get Aziraphale's mind off something that had the potential to happen, but wasn't as of yet. Crowley grimaced at that final word.

Clearing his throat a little, he nodded at the brioche. "Save for later," he asked.

Aziraphale blinked out of his daze, and looked down at the brioche, as if Crowley hadn't offered it to him in the first place. "Um, no thank you," he muttered. "You can have it." With that, he turned his attention forward again, staring at nothing but his own thoughts. His hands, which had been resting serenely in his lap minutes ago, had begun to wring themselves. Crowley shook his head at this.

Finally, the demon reached over to gently disentangle the fidgeting fingers. "Nothing's going to happen," he said slowly. Aziraphale wasn't looking at him, but that didn't mean he wasn't listening. "We scared all those bastards. They wouldn't dare touch us."

Aziraphale huffed, and looked at Crowley. "You can't be certain of that." The demon didn't respond to this, so he continued. "We both know how stubborn each side is. We've given them such a fright, who's to say that we haven't piqued their interest. I mean, a demon surviving holy water, an angel surviving hellfire…"

Crowley shrugged. "Maybe they are interested, maybe they're not. Either or, it's doubtful that they'll try and hurt us, after our little displays."

"Perhaps," he said with a frown.

"And if they do," Crowley continued. "We're more than a match for them."

Aziraphale's jaw flexed a little. "Except, it's not an attack I'm worried about."

"What, then?"

"Well, I believe, at least I think, you'd be all right, for the most part. But me…"

Crowley waved his hand dismissively, confidently. "They wouldn't have you Fall. They think you survived hellfire, that you're something more powerful than them. They wouldn't let Hell have you, possibly to use against them."

Aziraphale shook his head. "That's not exactly what I meant, either." The angel made a hand gesture and the rubbish left over from lunch disappeared out of existence, save for the brioche. He gave Crowley a knowing look. Though he was wearing his sunglasses, Aziraphale could tell by the way the demon's brows rose that his eyes had widened in understanding.

Demons were sort of free-spirited. They were given orders to wreak havoc on the world, and it was up to them how they wanted to do it. So long as a demon created some form of mischief here and there, violent or non, then none of the other residents of Hell would bat an eye. They were given such free reign because Heaven had no jurisdiction over Hell. Hell had bosses and higher-ups, sure, but what it did not have was control. A demon's gift of free will made it so that no one had command over them.

Unlike Heaven, that believed in strict and rigid control. Angels were not as free-spirited, because they rarely got permission. The authorities of Heaven not only took control of where an angel could go and what they could do, but, to some degree, control the angels themselves. Over the centuries, Aziraphale lost count of how many reprimands he'd gotten for frivolously using miracles. He would either receive a strongly worded memo, or a personal visit from one of the archangels. That was as far as it had ever gotten, but Aziraphale knew things could get worse. And now that he'd completely pissed Heaven off…

Crowley frowned deeply at the angel's shudder. Squeezing Aziraphale's hand, which he had yet to let go of, he said, "You're right. We've stirred 'em up quite a bit, eh? We can't guarantee what they'll do next. But I don't care, and I'm not worried. Wanna know why?" Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow at him. "'Cause we're on our side now. Whatever happens next, we'll withstand it together." The demon snorted humorously. "I mean, they tried to bring about the end of the world, they tried to start a war." He gazed at the angel. "They tried to kill us. Permanently separate us. And look where it got them."

Warmth spread through him when the angel squeezed his hand in kind. They hadn't taken notice, but they had shifted their positions on the bench to face each other more closely, knees brushing. "You're right," Aziraphale nodded. "I've been absolutely silly these last few weeks, haven't I?" Crowley shrugged as his thumb idly stroked the inside of Aziraphale's wrist. "Right," the angel said after a while, and then took a bite out of the brioche. "Our side, then."

"Don't know about you, angel," Crowley smiled as he took a piece that was offered to him. "But that's all that matters to me."


End file.
